


A Sparrow's Wings

by Jesse_Kamokazi



Series: Under Average (Overwatch Works) [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Eventual Smut, F/M, Flirty Jesse McCree, Fluff, Hanzo Shimada Mentioned, M/M, Post-Fall of Overwatch, Romance, Slow Burn, fluffy as all get out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:02:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8428930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jesse_Kamokazi/pseuds/Jesse_Kamokazi
Summary: You're big dream is to become one of Numbani's biggest fashion designers. One day your dresses and suits will be all across the world, and your name will be everywhere, and you're just about ready to start your first internship, after years of collage and taking care of your family, you finally have time. That is until a grimy, disheveled looking Cowboy stomps his dirty boots into your life and refuses to let you be.





	

It was a rather gloomy day, and your father had insisted that you carry an umbrella with you in case it began to rain. The air outside was stiff and mildly humid, making your hair impossible to manage. You’d even put some hairspray in it to try and keep it from puffing up like a sponge underwater while you did your errands, but just a little as to let the beautiful glossy brown curls you had still bounce while you walked along in your flats. 

You were even with your brother today, who was eleven years younger than you, but liked to act like he was your protector. He was just turning into a man, his voice cracking and his joints aching from growing pains; he often complained this to you. Yet, he was still a head shorter than you, as your mother’s side was tall and you had inherited that at five foot ten, making you tower over the more average girls despite them wearing heels. You found the shoes to be uncomfortable and unnecessary, and so flats were your go-to choice. Your brother shuffled around in worn out skater shoes, with the soles scraped down to the bare minimum to still consider them shoes instead of foot covers to hang around your ankles. 

His foot dragging had accompanied you out to the town, your umbrella hung at your side as you made your way to the slightly more industrial section of Numbani, your home city. Your father needed some screws and a new hammer. Someone, you glanced at your brother at this thought, had sent the old flat head hammer out the window. You also needed a sheet of glass, but you would have that ordered and shipped home so you didn’t have to tote it around through your morning coffee and school shopping. It was nearly time for your brother to return to highschool for his last year and you to take your first internship in the city; you majored in tailoring and minored in graphic design. It was your dream to become a fashion designer. So you needed new outline markers and sewing needles, while your brother needed more than one pack of pencils, he lost them constantly, and an organizer to at least attempt to keep him from losing his homework. 

Beside you there was a pop of gum, and you gently looked over to your brother, on his phone, chewing off brand bubble gum and texting his newest crush. You glanced ahead of you, seeing a newspaper dispenser in your path. “Wyatt,” you murmured, prepared to warn him. He didn’t look up, his eyebrows concentrating on whatever poetic line he was going to send to this girl. “Wyatt.” You repeated, more stern, but by the time he looked up he’d already went crotch first into the side of the metal box. He groaned and his hand went out to stabilize himself as he nursed his ‘wounds’. You couldn’t help but chuckle at his misfortune. 

“I tried to warn you,” you said simply, getting an evil glare from him. After he could walk straight, you two were off again, following the transit rails through the city to find your way. Every now and then there was vibrations of one of the few transits going overhead, but it was just background noise to you. You’d lived here long enough that you blocked it out, instead concentrating on the strange sounds, such as a cat hissing or your brother, now trying to make conversation to confirm what you both needed to pick up. 

You both meandered through the gloom down the sidewalk, moving at a decent pace towards the art store to pick up your school supplies first, since they were pretty well stocked with the stuff you both needed around this time of year. 

The pair of you gently stepped through the automatic doors, feeling the gust of chilling air conditioning blow down your backs. Past that, your brother huffed and used the windows to fix his hair while you nervously primped your dress back to it’s proper position. After that you were off, you carrying a shopping basket while your brother tossed in this and that. You much prefered the basket over a cart, much easier to see into, and less bulky. You held it in the corner of your elbow, monitoring all the stuff your brother grabbed to be sure it wasn’t some outrageous thing, like a hundred and twelve pack of markers or anything else he really didn’t need for high school. You grabbed pencils, papers, a box of colored pencils and a new binder for him, before he went running off to try and find a pencil case he thought he could actually use this year.

The time he was off searching was now yours to use to find your own markers and marker paper, moving to the more experienced aisles, pacing down until you found a set of basic colors, ranging from pink to purple, and all down the rainbow between. You made sure to grab a black felt tip markers as well before picking out your sketchbook and making your way back towards where you’d last seen your brother. As usual, he was sitting patiently there, literally sitting on the ground, waiting for you to come back. It was a rule you’d both made to avoid running around in circles looking for eachother, and completely missing each other. 

He grinned and stood up, dropping a pencil case that snapped onto notebooks, as it appeared, into the basket, which was now decently full. You helped him up by the arm and you both meandered up to the register to check out, putting all of your items, and a couple extra candy bars you’d both picked out, onto the counter to be bagged. You returned your basket and grabbed the two bags you were given, paper as you’d requested to try and help the environment as best you could, and hung them on your arm. After that, you two were off towards the warehouse district.

The two of you spent the rest of the walk eating your candy and talking about why it wasn’t okay to send a hammer out of a seventh floor window, and although you both knew that Wyatt wasn’t right in his arguments, you bickered for the sake of bickering; it was a good way to pass the time. By the time you had reached the warehouses he was trying to explain why windows needed to be broken after so many years, since they ‘needed replaced anyway’. He had also stuck to the idea that despite the fact that the hammer could have killed someone if it had hit them on the ground, ‘but it didn’t.’ 

You both passed through the open doors of the warehouse, making your way easily through the store aisles, as you often came to pick things up and knew your way around well. The entire aisle for nails and screws of different sizes was first up, where you grabbed two boxes of drywall screws with a phillips head, the kind with a plus sign as your brother so easily recalled. Next you stopped to the few rows of tools, pacing through the various hammers of different sizes; round heads, flat heads, until you found the kind that had gone out your window, smashed the concrete, and vanished into the hands of probably a homeless guy or some other kid who found it and thought it was cool, despite the broken handle, which was found lying on the street. 

You walked up to the nearest counter, ordered two 120 by 80 sheets of crystal glass to your address, and you pulled out your card to pay. Shopping bags hanging at the inside of your elbow, the two of you left and made your way back through the city, taking a longer way around to stop at the cafe you both liked best to get coffee. As you meandered forwards, your steps quiet and gently flopping in your flats, while your brothers stomped and shuffled besides you, the sky began to let out a few drops. You were still in the industrial section of Numbani, away from all the fancy shops and cafes that you could wait it out in. 

Your fingers gently passed over your umbrella, and you pulled it from your little sash, that of which was around the waist of what you were wearing; a white sundress to try and keep some of the heat off of you. You gently opened it above you, keeping the rain off of your prepped hair and your already damp shoulders. Your brother huddled closer to you, linking your arms as you walked forwards, starting past a train station. The usual people had vanished inside buildings and avoided the rain, leaving you two to be the only few people outside, other than a couple more who had been intuitive enough to equip umbrellas. 

There was a long few steps where you were both silent, both trying to shift under the umbrella to avoid getting wet if at all possible. You’d made sure to grab the largest umbrella you’d had, at least. Your brother was the one to end the silence, gasping and gripping so hard onto your arm you swore it would bruise. You tended to bruise like a peach. “Y/n!” He was whispering loudly. “Look, look over there!” He was pointing out into the sheets of rain, towards the train station. 

Sitting underneath the small lip of shelter was what looked to be a real life cowboy, his hat tipped over his face to keep his cigar lit, with leather chaps, and even spurs. You also noticed he had a revolver at his side. 

“Can we please go talk to him? A real life cowboy, sis! Please?” He was staring at you with those puppy eyes. Talk to that stranger, someone you’d never seen in Numbani before, who was clearly armed and hanging out, alone, outside of a train station, in the rain. 

Your brother could see the concern in your eyes, as if watching a fish swim around in a bowl. He pleaded again, and as you gently declined his begging, you saw the defiance set into his eyes like they’d iced over. He turned and before you could reach out to grab at his arm he had run off over the tracks. 

“Wyatt! Get your butt back over here,” you shouted, looking nervously to the Cowboy. You froze as your nerves coiled, and you stared. 

And he stared straight back, eyebrows furrowed.


End file.
